Odin just stared at him. “I’m not going to ask twice.”
“Jesus, Odin. Chill out, man. I just didn’t want to bore your hot little friend here.”
“Cut that shit out right now. The professor’s smarter than you. Now tell me what Zion’s a front for.”
Evans held up his hands. “It’s not a front for anything. We-”
Odin gripped the edge of a mango-wood shelving unit dotted with vases and small sculptures.
“Oh. Come on, Odin-”
He tipped it over and it crashed across the floor, shattering the edge of a glass coffee table.
“What the hell, man? I paid somebody to buy that.”
Odin stepped over the wreckage toward the bar. “When I ask you a question, I want a prompt, thorough, and accurate response.”
“What about elicitation? You’re supposed to start with elicitation, for fuck’s sake.”
“I don’t have time to pussyfoot around with you. You’re a scumbag. You’ve always been a scumbag, and you’ll always be a scumbag. What’s Zion’s real business?”
Evans was looking at his wrecked living room. “Dammit.” He focused on Odin. “Fine. We do personae management. A gorilla like you wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
Evans searched for the words. “We harness social media for multinational clients-help push brands.”
“Do you do intelligence work? DOD influence operations?”
Evans shrugged. “How the hell should I know?”
“Who were the ‘official’ friends you mentioned back at the office-the ones who supposedly have your back?”
“I don’t know. I have a number to call if there are problems. I’ve never had a reason to use it.”
Odin studied him. “So let me parse this into something I know Mordecai would be involved in. Let’s see… You game social media to make it lie to the world. Does that about sum it up?”
“It’s a bit more sophisticated than that, and it requires engineering skill. They’re called sock puppets. We create armies of artificial online personas-user accounts that espouse views certain interested parties want espoused. We flood forums, online comment sections, social media. It requires good software to manage it all-to automate the messaging while maintaining uniqueness, and to keep all the fictional personalities and causes straight. I took the logic from my bot-herding software-from the gold-farming operation in China.”
“Where do you get your contracts?”
“I told you: public relations firms-or at least their secret ‘whisper marketing’ subsidiaries. In the old days they used armies of paid shills to sing the praises of products and causes online, but human beings are unreliable. We’re more cost-effective. You want a million ‘people’ to say the same thing online, on a certain day, at a certain hour? I’m your man.”
“Political work?”
“Sure. We have political clients. Beltway lobbying firms-but they’re all public relations subsidiaries of big parents. They use scores of front companies.”
McKinney looked to Odin to register her disgust. “They’re undermining the democracy of the Internet is what they’re doing.”
“Oh, please. Look, we’re using our technical savvy to promote a point of view. That’s not illegal. And we’ve created some pretty popular personas-puppets with hundreds of thousands of followers. I’ve got actual goddamned fans for some of my personas.”
“How many people in your organization?”
“It’s way bigger than what you saw. I’m not a nobody, Odin. We manage operatives all around the world.” Evans smiled at the thought. “I remember getting a thrill penetrating government networks, but this… hell. Nothing like the thrill of influencing events. It’s amazing what a few people and a little money can accomplish online. Our puppets have turned whole elections. Especially when the oppo-research people give us something to go public with. And then our puppets up-vote the shit out of it, even if it’s no big deal. We can create public outrage from almost nothing.”
McKinney gestured to Evans. “How can you be proud of this? What you’re doing is creating false consensus. A ‘popular’ movement that doesn’t exist.”
“The term is astroturfing, and, yes, it’s quite a challenge.”
Odin nudged McKinney back as she started getting angry. “Focus on the mission, Professor.”
Evans chuckled as he sipped his mai tai. “Is she really upset?”
“People need to know what these guys are doing.”
“Pffftttt! Give me a break. Everyone knows. Why do you think they all want a piece of it? Detecting and neutralizing opposition or promoting your agenda-that’s what social media’s for.”
“The purpose was to get around media gatekeepers.”
He waved her off. “Yeah, and look how that turned out. Everyone on the Internet is talking about television and everyone on television is talking about the Internet. The whole damned thing is a self-licking ice cream cone, and you’re blaming me? The big boys have taken over. They’re fencing the Net off. Hell, even the CIA has a social media desk with hip young intelligence analysts ‘monitoring the threat/opportunity profile’ and reporting back in 140-character bursts of TWITINT.”
Odin stepped between them. “Who are these PR firms that hire you?”
“Big. Owned by D.C. law firms. Powerful. Jacked into everything — all the data moving through society. Cell phone geolocation. Purchase records. E-mail, IM, social networks. They’re mining it all in real time to find opposition to their clients’ interests. To spot trouble and opportunities. If someone’s talking about something they’re interested in-they know about it. And they can change the public conversation if necessary, modify public perceptions-rewrite reality in real time. It’s impressive. They could make Mother Teresa into the devil and Adolf Hitler into Saint Francis of Assisi if they wanted to.”
McKinney stared at him with utter contempt.
He started making another drink. “Don’t hate the playa, Professor. Hate the game. At least I’m not a bottom-feeder like the data cosmeticians and trash consultants-monitoring celebrity effluent to tell a consistent ‘brand story.’ Everything the public sees is managed. If there’s a valuable brand to protect-whether it’s a person or a dish soap-these fuckers are out there protecting it, shaping the narrative. I mean… who the hell follows dish soap on Twitter? How does anyone believe that shit’s real?”
Just then McKinney noticed one of Odin’s ravens alight upon the balcony railing beyond the glass. It looked agitated, caw ing silently beyond the double-insulated panes and hopping along the metal railing in alarm.
Odin stopped cold, and then turned to Evans. “You never disappoint, do you?”
Evans looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”
Odin pulled the pistol again. “You sent out a distress signal.”
“What are you talking about?”
Odin grabbed him by the collar and pulled him completely over the bar, sending barstools scattering as Evans landed on the floor with a thud. “When did you make the call, Morty? When!” Odin ground his knee into the back of the guy’s neck, pinning his face to the wooden floor.
“Ahhh! Fuck! I didn’t! Odin!”
McKinney shouted, “Odin, for godsakes-”
“Who did you call, Morty?”
After a moment of gasping, Evans held up a hand in submission. “My handler. Back at the office-when you broke in. I own the building. I get an alert when my floor button is pressed. I recognized you on the elevator camera-beard or no beard. For chrissake, Odin, we spent a year and a half in the asshole of the world-you think you’re not burned into my memory? I should have taken the jail time.”
Odin cast a see-I-told-you-so look at McKinney, then slammed Evans into the floor again. “You’re about to find out why that was stupid.”
McKinney could see that the raven had flown off. “Enough! Whatever it is, it’s going to be here momentarily.”
Odin got up and pulled Evans to his feet. “Where’s your escape route?” He reached around behind the bar and opened drawers until he came up with a nickel-plated Colt. 45. “I see you didn’t have the balls to try and cap us yourself. Who are they sending?”
